


Britishisms

by quingigillion (cartouche)



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Slow Build, dialogue practice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 12:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10536882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartouche/pseuds/quingigillion
Summary: ‘Do you have to play that junk out loud?’Dirk spins and gasps, overly dramatic, and clutches his chest in faux pain. He raises a brow. 'That junk, Todd, isRobbie Williams.'





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkyfishes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkyfishes/gifts).



> who says i cant write fic while on holiday  
> basically just dialogue practice inspired by dirk in the comics and his empire comment  
> dirk is also my mum. she too thinks sean connery was the hottest bond. she also likes robbie williams, cest la vie.  
> poorly disguised fast show references :)))))

Something is wailing out of Dirk’s tinny phone speakers, upbeat noughties pop with a generic beat and chord pattern that makes Todd want to wince. Dirk is bobbing along happily to it, hair flipping wildly as he burns something in their kitchen.

‘Do you have to play that junk out loud?’

Dirk spins and gasps, overly dramatic, and clutches his chest in faux pain. He raises a brow. ' _That junk_ , Todd, is _Robbie Williams_.' He stares dreamily into the distance for a moment. 'I had quite the crush back in the day. He always was my favourite member of Take That.'

'Take that? Take what?'

‘The _band_ , Todd.’

‘...Never heard of them.’ Dirk groans in frustration and shakes his head.

‘You never knew the wonders of a young Gary Barlow. Too busy wearing eyeliner and too much hair gel I suppose.’

 _Ouch_. Still he’s not wrong. ‘At least I know decent music when I hear it. You still listen to Mika and Britney Spears.’

‘Rich, considering you and your weird Shakira obsession, Todd.’ He lurches towards Dirk, frantically shushing, and Dirk’s face cracks into a smug smile. 'Remind me why you don't want anyone finding that out again. I could find Amanda …’

‘God, she hates me enough as it is.’

* * *

'Marmite. We need marmite.' The wheels of the trolley squeak in protest as Dirk pushes it too fast around the corner of another aisle.

'No we don't. The last jar you bought is still rotting at the back of my cupboard.' He pauses, twisting his head away from their careful list to stare at Dirk. 'Do you even _like_ marmite?'

Dirk scoffs animatedly and returns Todd's stare incredulously.

'Don't be stupid Todd, of course I do. It's a _British_ tradition.'

'Dirk, you're not even- Aren't you Romanian or something?'

A hand pointedly grabs one of the yellow and black tubs, placing it firmly into the trolley on top of the stack of frozen pizza.

'Marmite is a staple of the diet Todd.' He doesn’t argue. The trolley glides over the grimy plastic floors, and he lets the wheels wobble and squeak in silence. An unintelligible announcement is made over the fuzzy PA system, and Todd collects orange juice and pasta and toilet paper in blissful peace.

Neither of the them speak until the bread aisle. Todd can see this one coming a mile off, Dirk’s most consistent purchase is always in the bread aisle. Todd carefully examines shelves of wholemeal and wonders when his life was reduced to this. A yellow jacket appears in the corner of his eye and he watches less-than-stealthy hands slip something into the shopping, attempting to bury them behind the tomato puree.

‘Take them out, Dirk.’

‘Take what out Todd, I haven’t put anything in, I have simply stood here and looked after the trolley as you requested.’

He turns to face the other man, raising a brow at his sheepish expression. ‘The scones. Take them out. I’m not buying them.’

Dirk’s bottom lip quivers in a worrying way, and a distinct _wet_ gathers in the bottom of his eyes. ‘But they’re my _favourite_.’

An exasperated sigh slips out of him and Dirk looks even closer to crying. ‘You never eat them, _no one_ eats them. Who puts currants in bread and thinks it’s a good idea? The last load we bought were in a cupboard for so long they grew _blue mould_.’

He sighs again, and reaches in to remove the offensive doughy buns, shoving them back at Dirk.

‘Put them back and I’ll … I’ll buy you some Cadbury’s instead. The one with the popping candy right?’ He watches Dirk perk up immediately, expression brightening as he hastily stuffs the scones back on the shelf, squished between two loaves of Wonderbread.

* * *

'Do we _have_ to watch the new Revengers film, Todd?' His fingers pause in their futile scrabble at immovable plastic.

 _'A_ vengers. They're the _A_ vengers.' He glances sideways at Dirk who is doing his very best puppy face, bottom lip protruding and eyebrows caved mournfully.

'Whatever. Can't we watch-'

'Not The 39 Steps again.' He knows it's useless to protest, but he'll do it anyway. Dirk always wins.

'Todd, it's a British _classic_. Better than one of your loud, exploding Hollywood blockbusters.' The corner of the plastic lifts slightly under Todd's thumbnail. He grabs at it triumphantly, tugging at the thin wrapping.

'You've already made us watch it,’ By us, he means himself. No one else has to suffer through Dirk’s whims. ‘Seven times in a row.'

Dirk's eyes widen and nods persistently, a long hand gripping at his arm. He gives up on opening the DVD. 'That's because it's a _classic_. It doesn't grow old.'

'That's- That's not what that means.' He sighs and balances the Avengers on the coffee table. 'If you like terrible spy films so much, can we watch Mission: Impossible instead?'

'James Bond is my final offer.' It'll do, better than seeing grainy black and white figures creep around London in the dark again. He reaches for the remote as Dirk settles back onto the couch, self satisfied and cross legged. 'It has to be Sean Connery though Todd, he's the most attractive Bond.'

* * *

Todd rubs at his eyes, pushing the sleep away. Dirk, is leaning excitedly against the window, forehead pressed against the glass and breath fogging in front of him.

'Todd, it's _raining_!' He doesn't understand how he can sound so delighted for 8am on a mundane, apparently rainy Tuesday.

'Uhhh, yeah?'

'Seattle looks a little bit like London like this. Grey. And drizzly. And cars. And buildings too I suppose, although most cities tend to have those.'

He shakes his head and shuffles his way over to the coffee machine, cold floor tingling at his feet.

'You should have seen how excited people got over sunny days, Hyde Park would be _packed_ with people, and all the Tesco's would be out of any kind of ice-cream.' He looks a little distant, thousand yard stare disappearing into the Seattle horizon. The coffee machine whirs.

‘Do you miss it?’

Something in Dirk’s expression twists painfully, and he keeps his eyes trained carefully outside, pupils flickering over the trundling traffic. ‘Yes.’ Something deep inside Todd panics, and he’s glad when the last of the coffee drips thick and brown into the pot, busying his hands and allowing him to avoid looking at Dirk. ‘But I like here just as much. If not more. You’ve definitely got better pizza.’

Todd scoffs quietly, leaning against the counter to sip at the hot liquid warming his hands. A calm quiet settles over the room for a minute, Dirk still attached to the window pane until he turns around to smile softly at Todd.

‘You really need to get _dressed_ Todd. We have a client waiting. And I’m not entirely sure they’ll wait forever. Also they’ve left a horse outside the agency and I’m not don’t know what parking restrictions are in Seattle for ridable mammals.’

The spell breaks and Dirk bounds off into the bedroom, Todd watching placidly as various items of his clothing are thrown out the door in his general direction.

‘We need an umbrella too!’

* * *

Dirk is brandishing something that looks like a tiny sieve at his face and he hasn’t paused for breath in _at least_ 3 minutes and Todd honestly never knew that making a cup of tea could be so hard. Didn’t you just need hot water and a bag?

‘-Re you listening? Todd? This part is very important. If you don’t strain the tea then all the bits of leaf end up at the bottom and it’s _gross_. You can’t drink it. It is _undrinkable_. You have to throw it away. And that’s a waste of good tea.’

He knows it’s a bad idea before he even speaks, but it’s not his fault he drinks coffee. ‘Can’t you just use a tea bag?’

Dirk splutters indignantly. ‘A bag? A _bag?!_ Todd haven’t you been listening?’ No, he hasn’t. ‘Bags are flavourless, papery, dull. Tea is meant to be drunk loose, and it’s why you need the strainer.’ He can feel himself staring hopelessly down at the countertop, filled with crockery and various medieval torture instruments.

‘So what’s the second kettle for?’

He’s met by pure aghast for a moment, before Dirk slouches despondent. ‘That’s the teapot. You can’t leave the tea to brew in a kettle. Don’t they teach you _anything_ in America?’

He can’t help but shrug and grin, leaning over to nudge Dirk with his shoulder fondly. ‘We’re taught how to make pretty decent coffee.’

* * *

‘So you’re telling me universities over there race boats, _for fun_?’

‘Yes.’ There’s a pause, and Todd watches Dirk’s head tilt. ‘Well, not all universities, just Oxford and Cambridge. And not really for fun. The people in the boats certainly take it seriously, it’s a centuries old competition, it can’t be taken lightly.’

Todd nods though he’s no less confused. The commentator roars something out of the TV screen, and he watches a set of brawny 20 year olds heave oars along a muddy looking river. ‘So what did you do?’

‘What everyone else did. Sat on the banks with a bottle of half flat Lambrini and cheered them on tipsily.’ Suddenly Todd can see the appeal, Dirk lying giddy and laughing on a grass bank on a sunny day, shirt riding up, scarf abandoned, sipping on something less than 4%. ‘Now that _was fun_.’

He pushes down the cold spike of jealousy that rears up from the pit of his stomach. ‘And I guess it had nothing to do with the 8 muscular, sweating guys making provocative movements.’

A light blush blooms firmly along Dirk’s cheekbones, and he stares haughtily down his nose at Todd, lips pursed. ‘I’ll have you know I did more than just watch. I was the team cox once or twice too.’

He’s fairly sure he’s choking, ignoring Dirk’s sly smile in favour of regaining control over his breathing. By the time he’s recovered, Dirk is already watching the screen intently, fingers gripping at the sofa in anticipation.

Todd watches the boats slide over the finish line neck and neck, Dirk gasping and shouting. He can almost imagine they’re sitting on a grass bank.

* * *

He shouldn’t laugh. Really, it’s not funny, because Dirk is sitting next to the fan miserably, sipping on ice cold water and looking close to tears.

But it is funny, seeing the bright red line of sunburn crossing over his nose and cheeks, edged by pale line of where Dirk’s sunglasses once were. He swallows down his laughter.

‘I did tell you to use suncream.’ The bag of ice is fished out of the freezer, and Todd damps a towel before wrapping it into a homemade compress. Dirk shoots him a look that’s 3 parts hurt and 7 parts despondent, and holds it carefully against his face, inhaling sharply at the sudden cold.

‘I don’t _burn_ Todd.’ And it’s true, for the most part. Dirk’s forearms have tanned in a freckly golden way. His cheeks however, are throbbing an angry scarlet that is going to take weeks to fade.

‘Yeah I can see that.’ He turns back to the kitchen, rifling through a few cupboards in search of after sun.

‘Why does it have to be so _hot_ , Todd? It’s Seattle, I thought Seattle was supposed to be cold.’

‘You can blame global warming or something.’ He emerges with the small, nondescript tube and moves back to Dirk, sitting in front of him. He ignores how close their faces are together, and the adoring way that Dirk’s gaze settles on him. ‘Here, let me put this on, it’ll feel better after.’

He squeezes the thick cream onto his fingers, bringing them up carefully to swipe it over heated skin. The tips of Dirk’s ears redden to match his cheeks, and his voice is very small when he speaks, hands fidgeting in his lap. The fan whirs quietly, air stirring in their hair.

‘Thank you Todd.’ He shrugs, twisting away, fingers gripping the after sun like a lifeline, until a cool hand wraps around his wrist, tugging him back. ‘Todd … I ….’

He huffs and leans down to press a soft kiss to Dirk’s forehead. ‘Wait until the sunburn is gone, then you can confess your love for me Rudolph.’

Dirk gapes, caught somewhere between shock and offense, and Todd feels his lips curl in response. ‘How- How did yo-’

‘You’ll work it out eventually.’ He stands, moving back to the kitchen in order to replace the salve. He doesn’t turn around when Dirk gasps out a soft _oh_ , shoving the ointment back on its shelf.

‘Todd … Do we _have_ to wait until the sunburn's gone?'


End file.
